The Son of Magic
by N. R. Romanov
Summary: The time has come for Harry to determine the fate of the world… HHr, a hopefully true Sword and Sorcery tale.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter in any way whatsoever. To the people who do, I hope you do not mind that I manipulate your characters in my own little universe, for no money of course. Also, I can not call any other parts of this story my own simply because it is most likely stuff my mind assimilated from all the books and fanfiction I've read, plus all the movies I've watched. This story is purely for my own entertainment, so without further ado...

**The Author's Note: **This is an idea that I've had jumping around in my mind for a while, so I decided to finally just put it down to erm...virtual paper. I hope you all enjoy it and I ask that you please review, it brings wonderful inspiration. Story time!

_And it was said that the Son of Magic would come forth from the blood of humanity and purge the world of all evil, for he is greater than all in this world and the next._ (Merlin 7: 7)

Harry Potter was never normal. He was never normal by regular human standards. And he was definitely not normal even by wizarding standards. See, he was an exception to the rules, all of the rules that were related to the meaning of the word normality. He had accomplished the impossible, defied the laws of this world and met with Death face on and still came out the victor. Yet none of this _abnormality_ could help him now, in the present state he was in. To understand why, it must first be known the reasons behind this so-called abnormal state.

Harry Potter had never had what one could call an "easy" life. His life was what one would call, as if reading a Shakespearean novel, tragic. Filled with hardship, terror, and a cruel twist of fate that seemed to, at every turn, make sure that Harry would never, ever, be happy.

The sorrowful legacy of Harry Potter began when he was but a child of the age of one. He had _had_ parents who loved him, willing to die for him, which is the very thing that happened. A man by the name of Lord Voldemort; a once kind, mistreated child seduced by the Dark Arts of magic, heard of a prophecy that was the defining point of Harry's life. This prophecy, told by a seer who had never actually _seen_ before, spoke of a child who would one day possibly challenge the might of the Dark Lord, for he was the Dark Lord's equal. There were two children possible who fit the description of said prophecy, yet the Dark Lord chose to eliminate Harry first over the other child. It just so happens that Voldemort thought the greatest threat to his power was that of a half-blood, like himself, and not of the grand pureblood lineage.

But, what Voldemort did not realize, was that by killing Harry's parents—people willing to sacrifice themselves to keep their child safe—gave Harry a protection more ancient and more powerful then any magic the Dark Lord could achieve. The Dark Lord then cast the emerald death, rolling the die and setting the board for what he believed would be the beginning of his eternal reign. He did not expect for Death to rebound from the child and return to its original source. But Voldemort had tricks up his sleeve. He could not die, not that way at least.

But this tale is getting a little too in-depth in history. Things must be sped up a bit if those reading wish to get to the true part of this legend. These next few details will be brief. Harry grew up where he was hated for what he was, yet he didn't know what he was until he was told by someone who was what Harry was. For ten years he lived in a cruel environment, put to work by relatives that should love him, but didn't. Then, an ex-wizard visited Harry, told him he was a wizard, that he would enter a magical school called Hogwarts, and whisked him away to a land of magic and all new possibilities. He took to it with curiosity, and an eagerness to learn more about this wonderful world.

_Anyways_, at the end of his first year, he showed his courage as he fought to the death with a traitorous professor being used as a host for the now-parasitic Lord Voldemort.

Then Harry's second year came, he discovered he was a parselmouth (can talk to snakes), and ended up slaying a basilisk (very very big snake) with a sword that once belonged to one of the founders of Hogwarts. However, he came very close to death (once again!) but still ended up destroying the memory of Lord Voldemort from an enchanted journal.

Third year for Harry was difficult. He thought that he was being tracked down by a crazed murderer who wanted to kill him, but instead he discovered the man was his godfather. His godfather was almost killed, Harry showed power beyond power as he fought off hundreds of dementors (ugly creatures that want to suck the soul out of you, literally) and he traveled back through time to rescue two innocents from execution.

Fourth year for Harry was bad as well. He was forced to compete in a tournament along with three of his elders, who were far more skilled than he. He ended up winning, watched a new sort-of friend die in front of his eyes, and dueled with a newly resurrected Lord Voldemort. He escaped, thwarting Death yet again, and brought the dead body of his sort-of friend back to Hogwarts.

_Then_, his fifth year happened. That year was the worst time of his life. He was ridiculed, thought insane, and hated by all but his few friends, all because he said that Lord Voldemort was back. At the end of the year, Harry and his friends raced to a place called the Department of Mysteries, hoping to save Harry's godfather, from being tortured to death. It was a trap, Harry's friends were almost killed, Harry's godfather _was_ killed, Harry cast an unforgivable curse intended to cause pain, and Harry felt pain greater than any human being can stand. Everyone survived except for his godfather. It was after this that Harry was told of a certain prophecy, but all this can be saved for a later time.

The writer of this story sincerely hopes that no readers have gotten bored over this long drabble of history, yet it was all necessary to understand what it is we are about to come to.

Now begins the epic of Harry Potter.

Harry sat, alone, in his room, the smallest room inside of the house residing at Number Four, Privet Drive. To one who just glanced at Harry, they wouldn't think anything of the way he sat, his arms on his knees and his head in his hands. They would probably just think he was sad about something. And that was true, he was sad about something, but it was a sadness that far exceeded that of normal emotion. Harry had never really had all that much happiness in his life. And it just so happens, that one of Harry's few sources of that strange emotion was snatched away from him, giving him a taste of its wonder and then ripping it away, making him yearn for what he could no longer have. Many people who experience traumatic losses close themselves up, bottling all of their emotion on the inside, protecting themselves from outside sources. They think about the event, and feel as if it is happening all over again. It is experienced differently by everyone, based on the degree of trauma and their susceptibility to its effects. For Harry, however, it was a completely different story. His mind was literally tearing itself apart. He could not stop repeating all of the events again, and again, and again and again and again. He was beginning to feel as if his touch on reality was vanishing, like he was no longer part of the physical world.

And to make matters worse, strange things had been happening to him. He found that his control over magic seemed to be slipping. It was becoming volatile, unpredictable, and powerful. His room was a mess, everything had been splintered, shattered, or crushed; and Harry couldn't even stop it. But the strangest thing, however, was what happened every single night. He would get the most terrible feeling. It was painful. His muscles cramped up as tight as possible, contracting so much that he felt they would rip apart, and causing him to spasm and jerk and do things out of control.

There is a certain point, a certain level of pain and suffering that can be tolerated. Once a magical person has gone past this point, their magic literally rips itself to pieces, never allowing for the control of magic ever again. But, there is a first for everything. As Harry sat there, suffering, his magic was undergoing an internal change. Never again would the world witness something as amazing as that. Instead of destroying itself, his magic increased in its intensity and strength, resulting in the theory—theory, mind you—of what one could call infinite magical ability. But why was Harry, and only Harry, capable of this feat?

How could his brother have done this to him? That _traitor_! Off frolicking with that snake-worshiper! Had he learned nothing? Nothing from what the deaths of their kin symbolized? All that was left of their race were the ungifted brood. The peasant kin. If his brother chose to join the wretched Dark Lord, then he decided death was better than the love of his family. So be it. He would do what he should have done a long time ago. It was time to find him, the Savior, as his family had come to call him. It had been prophesized for over a thousand years; the one who would finally bring peace to the world, and especially his kind, the one with the power alone to stop the Dark Lord. The very same Dark Lord who had thirty years previously continued up the campaign to exterminate his species…

The man to whom these thoughts belonged spun around and exited the armory of his enormous castle. He was young looking, with crimson hair (completely red hair, like that of blood), and eyes that matched. His skin was slightly dark, and his face was long and pointed. To some, he would appear as nothing too much out of the ordinary. Yet, appearances can always be deceiving.

Swiftly, the man climbed flight upon flight of stairs until he reached the uppermost part of the tallest tower. Standing atop, alone, unshielded from the gently flowing wind, he looked upon his land with a resolute determination. His ungifted kin looked up at him, and gave deafening roars to which he matched. His roar was like the embodiment of a great beast, loud and commanding. As one saw his teeth they would realize that they were no human teeth.

The man's crimson robes, embroidered with a crimson dragon, began to merge with his skin as he changed into his true form.

Taking off into the sky, he declared in a booming voice, "There will be no more traitors!"

Harry Potter woke, covered in sweat. His dream had been strange. There had been a man, dressed in crimson, and he was saying something about traitors….?

_It was just a dream…_

But was it, truly? Harry did not know the answer. He did not get any more sleep that night; his mind was too busy, too disturbed by the realness of this dream.

_Just a dream…_

The air smelled of freshly cut grass with a touch of fresh soil. Harry always enjoyed being outside; it brought him peace and provided sanctity from his wretched existence; much better than being stuck up in his room, thinking about _the incident_. The feel of the cool, soft dirt surrounding his hands as he dug deep beyond the roots and worms to replace the dead annuals from the previous year was relaxing. This summer had not been so hot, unlike the previous. It was rather cool, actually. There was a prickle on the back of his neck; he spun around with his wand in hand, nicking the area of skin between his left thumb and forefinger on the edge of the small garden shovel. He paid it no mind.

It was Tonks; she was standing on the edge of the lawn staring straight at him with her wand poised and ready for any possible disturbance. "Hey Tonks, so I see the Order's following me around still?" She jumped in surprise. Harry gave her a smirk as she stared at him wide eyed and reached up to grab the air.

"H-how did you see me?" she asked out of curiosity and surprise. Harry just looked at her stupidly; why shouldn't he be able to see her?

"You're standing right out in the open!" he muttered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"But Harry, I was under my invisibility cloak!" Tonks said, amazed. Harry just mouthed "oh" and shrugged, returning to his work. He didn't really care, and he didn't hear the loud _CRACK!_, the whispered words between Tonks and the newcomer, or the _CRACK!_ signaling the disappearance of one of them. He looked to his hand; after realizing it was completely healed he shrugged and focused on his work, it was the only escape; the only way out of the one place inescapable—the mind.

Inside a large, circular office full of strange silver knick-knacks, marvelous wood flooring, an extravagant perch atop of which was a magnificent phoenix, and large oil paintings of people long past, sat the current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The room, no matter who you were (except for Voldemort), exuberated a feeling of homeliness and sanctity. To students, the few of whom ever were able to enter, it was the epitome of Hogwarts' inviolability.

"Are you quite sure he did this?" said Albus Dumbledore quietly.

"Quite sure," said Tonks, unable to get over the excitement of the day. With a small chuckle Albus leaned back in his brand-new muggle swivel chair and smiled at the ceiling.

"Ah young Mr. Potter, you are always full of surprises."

_His friends were lying dead on the ground, their blood flowing from numerous gashes into a large pool. A man hooded and cloaked in black stood above them, his face invisible save for a pair of two glowing red eyes. Behind him lightning flashed and thunder crashed, while a torrent of rain fell upon the earth. There was no sun, it seemed that the very presence of the man himself caused the sun to cower in fear. There was cold, maniac laughter echoing throughout the barren landscape._

"_I'm coming for you Potter..."_

Harry instantly woke up from his nightmare. It was not a new one, but instead one that had plagued him for many a night now. He was shivering, the temperature in the room was very cold, colder than it should be. His window was shattered…

Ignoring the now common pain in his scar, Harry got up from his bed and quickly headed towards the bathroom. After splashing water onto his face, Harry looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale, and there were bags under his eyes--eyes that were slightly glowing. It was nothing new, they had been doing that for the past couple weeks. He couldn't find a reason to care. Shaking his head to clear his mind Harry left the bathroom and headed back towards his bedroom. After closing the door Harry surveyed his room; everything was broken. Oh well, it was not the first time. Eventually everything would fix itself, and then it would just break again. Harry did not care anymore; the Dursleys didn't seem to care either.

His relatives had kept quite clear of him this summer, and it had nothing to do with the threat Moody had given at the station. Instead, it was Harry's doing. Seeing the state he was in had done something to them, they no longer made hurtful comments or made him do anything he didn't want to do. It was almost as if they felt…sorry for him. Either that or they were afraid of him, which Harry found to be completely reasonable. Everyone he knew usually had the misfortune of ending up dead. They should be afraid, he was dangerous. Especially since the convulsions began. The painful whimpers and sounds of breaking objects must have scared them and hell, he would be pretty freaked out if someone was doing that in his house as well.

There was the sound of flapping wings. Hedwig flew in through his nonexistent window. She quickly perched herself on Harry's shoulder, and showed him the letter attached to her leg. Silently Harry removed it, not bothering to look who it was from, and watched as it opened itself in his hands. He took the paper (Must be Hermione, she always prefers to use regular paper) out of its envelope and unfolded it. As he predicted, Hermione's neat script stared up at him. He immediately caught a mention of Sirius and decided he no longer wanted to read the letter, and tossed it in the corner, where it promptly crumpled itself up.

He was not in the mood to deal with his friends at the moment.

"Albus, we need to get him out of there right now! Have you not sensed the outbursts coming from the area? The amount of magic radiating from there is enough to even affect muggles! Why, I would not be surprised if Voldemort himself knew exactly where he is-"

"Quiet, Remus. I indeed have felt Harry's magic, and I can assure you that Voldemort could never find him where he is. It is very likely, yes, that he has felt Harry's magic, but yet very doubtful that he understands what it is. The ancient bloodmagic protecting Harry at the moment makes him all but invisible to Voldemort and all those bearing the Dark Mark. We know that it is Harry causing this disturbance simply because we are the few who are not affected by these wards, resulting in us knowing where he is; to all others the location of the outburst is redirected, so that those sensitive enough to feel it trace it towards a place of high magical activity; in this case, I have directed it towards the more magical side of London, as it is the closest place to Harry's current location." Albus finished calmly and quietly took another sip of his Jasmine tea.

"Are you completely sure Albus? These eruptions are of an enormous magnitude; I mean, we always knew Harry had a gift at sorcery, but this is just insane! I've seen his windows break and refix themselves twelve times already, and he's not even using any spells!" To this Albus just smiled.

"I know Remus, isn't it wonderful? He is finally following his destiny, becoming what he was meant to be."

"And what, exactly, is he supposed to be?"

"Magic itself."


End file.
